“That’s one way to look at it,” Roarke conceded. “And now I want a drink.”
“I can’t prove it, yet. But I will. He took e-courses, but everybody does. He excelled, but didn’t pursue them. I’m betting when we ask, we’re going to find he’s one of the go-to guys when somebody has a comp issue. ‘I bet Kyle can fix it.’”
She frowned when Roarke offered her a small glass of wine.
“I guess so,” she considered, and sipped.
“I knew, Roarke, everything in me knew, today when he sat across from me, an arm around his cousin’s wife. Her shoulder to lean on. He set it all up. His cousin’s uptown in meetings, he’s downtown, and he talks Rosa into going with him, has a director type there for cover, too. He’s right there to support her when she gets that text.”
“Easily sent by remote, or scheduled to send at a certain time.”
“I got that. And it’s dumped in a recycler half a block from the Patricks’ building—to add more fear—and that bin just happens to do the crush and shred before we can get there. Previous crush is eight A.M., giving him a big wide window to dump it, head into work. No way we could’ve gotten to it before the scheduled crush—he even checked the time to be sure when we were at Central. I went hot all the way, and we were still too late. He had it all worked out.
“He’s smart,” she said, pacing again. “Reckless—that’s arrogance. He didn’t have to take another swipe at his cousin and Rosa, didn’t have to put himself in the position of sitting across from me. He just wanted to.”
“The Patricks will be grateful, will feel grateful he was with her when that text came. That he took her to you, stayed with her. All of it designed to make them grateful to the man who brutalized them.”
“He’s a damn good actor.” She stared at Kyle’s ID shot. “Damn good at setting the stage. I’ve got to write it up. Write it all up, every detail, then I have to convince Reo to get behind it, get me a search warrant. He’s got that hoard he’s stolen stashed somewhere, and somewhere he can bask in it whenever he wants. We still have to finish vetting the list. If I’m wrong—”
“You’re not.” Roarke recalled the images of Knightly’s aunt and Rosa onto the screen. “You’re not wrong. I’ll start working on the other names while you write it up. But you’re not wrong.”
It took her an hour to write up the report in such a way that utilized only facts, only available data, making the connections in a logical point by point.
Then she let it simmer while she updated her lists or eliminated more possibles before going back and reading it all again.
When she felt it would stand, she sent it to APA Cher Reo with a request for a face-to-face meeting at the earliest possible time the next day; to Mira, asking for a consult if the profiler felt one necessary; and to her commander.
She copied the other members of the team on all.
When she’d finished, she sat back, closed her eyes.
“You need sleep.”
“I know. I have to be on top of things tomorrow. If I do it right, he won’t have the chance to do this to anyone else. He’s got the next targets, he’s got the costume, the props, everything. He’s dreaming about it. He’d never stop.”
“No, and eventually, he’d kill his aunt and uncle.”
Eve opened her eyes, turned to Roarke. “Yes. His full circle. He’d have to. I requested access to his full medicals. His parents paid off the woman he assaulted. Maybe they did that on the condition he get help.”
“He’s close to his cousin. His cousin may know.”
“Yeah, I may have to go there.”
She turned back to view an incoming text.
“From Reo—that was fast.”
I’m staying with a friend tonight in your area. I can come to your place when I leave. Out of here by seven-thirty. Due in pretrial meetings at ten.
“That works,” Eve muttered, replied with the same, then sent a message to Peabody.
Report here, by eight for full briefing and “Wouldn’t you want to brief everyone at once?” Roarke interrupted.
“Crap.” She added the others on, continued …
meeting with APA Reo.
“Will provide breakfast.”
“Uh-uh.”
“Eve. You’re asking them to come here after working until near midnight. It’s a small thing.”
“Crap and more crap.” But she added it on. “Satisfied?”
“With that, well enough. Altogether, the way you’re drooping, other satisfaction will have to wait. Come on then, it’s time to put it away and sleep.”
“I’m not drooping,” she grumbled. “Besides,” she added as he pulled her to her feet, “it’s male drooping that postpones other satisfaction.”
“Very droll.”
Maybe she was drooping, a little, by the time they got to the bedroom. And there lay the cat, stretched out on his back in the middle of the bed.
“That’s where he went.” Eve shrugged off her jacket, unhooked her weapon harness. “He likes the big fancy bed, too.”
“He has exceptional taste.”